


Written on the Body

by FayJay



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-05-04
Updated: 2009-05-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 08:59:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayJay/pseuds/FayJay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Wolverine deals with the death of Jean Grey in his own fashion. Beer, memory, impermanence and desire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written on the Body

Waking hurt. That was the alcohol, of course - beer and rye and beer again, until he'd finally pitched into blessed nothingness and forgotten that Jean was gone.

Someone had put him to bed. That hadn't happened since - he didn't remember that ever happening. Although it probably had done, when he was a child. If he'd ever been a child. Stryker could have told him.

Someone was in bed next to him. No skin against his skin, but the warmth was unmistakable and it was such a long time since he'd slept with someone - not fucked them, but slept with them - that he couldn't imagine who or how or why. The blades itched beneath his skin at the unwonted invasion of his privacy.

He felt like shit.

Logan cracked open one eye warily. Let it not be Marie, he thought with a guilty rush of nausea. Let it not be the kid lying there all untouchable and yearning and painfully young, with her schoolgirl crush begging to be taken advantage of.

It wasn't the kid.

"Good morning."

Logan stared stupidly into blue and yellow and watched Kurt's sweet and tentative smile melt a little at the edges. His memory was distressingly blank.

"You should not worry," Kurt said, glancing away and then glancing back again with that uncertain little smile still curling his lips. "Nothing - untoward - has happened. And I should take it as a kindness if you would not glare quite so ferociously, my friend."

Wolverine continued to glower.

"You're in my bed," he said accusingly.

"Well, yes. Yes, this is the truth. You wanted the company."

"I wanted - oh, for fuck's sake." He rolled over with an unsexy grunt and buried his face in the pillow. His head continued to pound, and he concentrated on this for a while rather than thinking about the warm blue skin that was now touching his side. Kurt continued to regard him earnestly, and Logan could feel that stupid little grin even without looking up. "What? What is it? Did I puke on the professor's shoes? Kick the crap out of Summers?"

"No. No, you were very - ah - maudlin. Yes. You were sad. Also heavy. Piotr would have carried you up here, but me, I said it would be easiest to just - pouf." Logan watched blearily as Kurt's inhuman fingers flicked into a quick gesture that eloquently evoked his unique method of transport.

"Pouf?" he repeated.

"Pouf."

"Huh."

There was an oddly companionable pause.

"I could go now?" suggested Kurt at last. He sounded a little amused, and something else too. Wistful, possibly. Logan glanced over at him and was arrested by the look on Kurt's face.

"No. No, that's - shit, Bub, I must stink like an explosion in a brewery." Kurt grinned properly then, and Logan felt unexpectedly cheered.

"You do not smell so beautifully," Kurt agreed. "Perhaps - a shower? If you are ready to get up and greet the morning?"

Logan considered.

"Perhaps," he echoed. It occurred to him that various bits of Kurt were still pressed against his skin. It occurred to him a moment later that this was actually not such a bad thing. As Logan was turning this over in his head, he felt something firm and warm and very much like a fingertip trail tentatively up his back while both of Kurt's hands were clearly not moving at all, and he promptly skewered the pillow for the dozenth damn time.

Feathers exploded into his face and the claws slid sheepishly back as he sat up, coughing and embarrassed as hell. When he'd finished coughing, he found Kurt sitting cross-legged and still astonishingly blue on the other side of the bed, looking very much like a naughty kid. A naughty demon kid, with angles and whorls decorating the indigo planes of exposed skin and vanishing intriguingly under the edge of his crisp white boxers. Okay, so maybe not a kid after all. The tail was curling into a guilty question mark in the air behind him, his eyes were enormous and he looked impossibly exotic. And nothing whatsoever like Jean Grey.

The white down drifted quietly through the air and settled on his cobalt skin like so much unmeltable snow

"Silk," said Logan. Kurt blinked.

"Bitte?"

"Boxers. Silk boxers. Should've known"

"Oh. Yes. Ah."

There was an uncertain little pause.

"Shower. Yeah. 'Scuse me, pal."

Logan heaved himself out of bed and padded over to the bathroom, pointedly not looking at the forlorn little blue shape on his bed and not even slightly having the unexpected thoughts that he was having. No sir.

* * * 

The thing about Kurt was - he looked so damned breakable. Just an itty bit of a thing, damn near as skinny as Marie or little Kitty - you wouldn't credit he could be lethal. He didn't have that aura of being a predator either, most of the time; but sometimes, when he was in the Danger Room, for example, or training with Summers or Piotr, sometimes he got his blue self into the zone and then he looked like something from your worst nightmare. Alien. You could forget, for whole minutes at a time, that he was going to be apologising for hours if he bruised anyone. Kurt moved like - like nothing Logan had seen before. Fluid, effortlessly graceful, and *fast*. Unbelievably fast, the way he sprang around, like his bones were made of rubber. Logan couldn't figure it, the way he slipped in and out of the world like the world wasn't really there. It made his brain hurt just thinking about it. Same thing with little Kitty, of course, but she was just a kid and she did it easy as breathing. She didn't have the showman's flair that Kurt had. She made walking through walls look normal, and Kurt - he made it look like something you'd buy tickets for. Like a circus trick. Yes.

Logan couldn't stop thinking about the tail. And the skin. And the tattoos. Especially the tattoos. Kurt had begun to fascinate him. This beat the hell out of spending every waking minute replaying the way he let Jean down at Alkali Lake, so he was going with it for a while.

He leaned back against the shadowy wall and took another drag on his cigar whilst he watched Kurt sunbathe with Scott and Piotr. For someone so definitely designed for darkness, Kurt was endearingly besotted with the sun. Logan couldn't remember seeing anyone bask with so much transparent delight; the guy looked like some kind of big cat, sprawling deliriously in the sunlight and soaking up the warmth. Logan hadn't really noticed Kurt's legs before - under the circus striped pants he'd supposed they were pretty normal human legs. Blue and all that, but humanish. Turned out that they were nothing of the kind, and they were as densely illustrated as his face and chest. Logan couldn't stop staring. At his side Scott looked every inch the dull, wholesome, over-privileged, corn-fed American dream he was, and Logan felt a familiar ache of anger and resentment and some other things, maybe. He damped it down automatically as best he could and let his gaze settle again on Kurt's oblivious skin. The blue tail flicked lazily in the grass, and Logan's mouth twitched. Just like a damned cat. He was probably purring. The ridiculous shorts surely must have been borrowed from Scott; Logan wondered idly whether Kurt had cut a hole in the seam for his tail, or slipped it down one of the legs, or maybe let it poke out of the top. Tailoring had to be an issue when you had interesting extra appendages. He squinted, but Kurt was sprawling on his back and there was no knowing just yet how he'd managed to accommodate his tail. Kurt stretched again, pushing himself up off the grass and arching his back in a way that made Logan catch his breath. He couldn't imagine being so flexible. Kurt collapsed again into a boneless heap and giggled; his whole body shook delightedly and the laughter carried across the grass. Logan grinned, and followed the pattern of tattoos up over Kurt's improbable legs once more. The Bermuda shorts, he reflected indignantly, were way too big. After a moment Logan found himself wishing that they were smaller, because he wanted to see every last angle and whorl of the strange words raised on Kurt's skin. Scars inscribed as memories. Logan had neither, and they intrigued him.

"Logan!"

He glanced down irritably, and then his scowl melted into a reluctant grin.

"Hey, kid. Shouldn't you be working?" Marie made a rude noise.

"Like you guys?"

"Well, yeah. Fair point. Where's whatsisname?"

"Bobby," she said, smiling hugely. It was a game they played. "His name's Bobby."

"Bobby, Robbie, Dobby, whatever." He shrugged. There was an easy pause, and he felt his heart lighten a little. He liked Bobby. Didn't envy the kid over much being in love with a girl he couldn't touch or taste, but he reckoned Bobby was okay. 'Course, if the golden boy ever let anything hurt Rogue, Logan would track him down and gut him from groin to gizzard. But the kid seemed okay. "So where is he?"

She glanced up at him and dimpled naughtily. "He'll be along in a minute. What ya doin'?"

"Just thinking, princess." She looked concerned, almost motherly, and that was enough to make him laugh, almost. "Nothing bad. Just, you know. Thinking."

"Well, okay then." They both stared into the grounds for a little while, and Logan found he was in some danger of forgetting about blue skin and sudden smoke and dwelling on less cheerful things. Maybe Marie was still too closely associated with Scott and Jean in his mind after all.

"Aaiee!"

Logan's head snapped up and the adamantium sliced through his skin with a sharp, familiar pain before his eyes found the source of the sound. At his side Marie dissolved into giggles, and when he saw the cause Logan grunted crossly and relaxed back against the wall, claws retracting quietly and skin healing itself in an instant. The cigar remained clenched between his teeth while he watched Scott and Piotr spring gingerly to their feet and shake away the thick crust of snow that had suddenly landed on them. Summers looked thoroughly pissed, and Logan found himself grinning too. Beside them the Kurt-shaped shell of snow had fallen in onto itself, while several hundred yards away Kurt sprang into existence and darted into the bushes. He emerged a moment later, his blue skin sheened with meltwater and his face thoroughly stern, and frogmarched an unrepentant Bobby back to the scene of the crime. Bobby's hands, Logan noticed with a sudden shock, were bound together behind his back in a loop or two of that fascinating and flexible tail.

"He been pulling these kinds of stunts long?" he asked Marie, trying not to think about the tail. She shook her head, and they watched Scott read Bobby the riot act. His voice carried across to them, prissy and righteous and just the same as ever. Always the good guy. Logan wondered if he ever got bored of it.

"I think he misses John," she offered, and her voice wobbled just a fraction. She gave him another bright smile, but Logan wasn't buying it.

"C'mere, kid," he said brusquely, and scooped her into a hug. She felt stiff for a moment, and then melted against him, her face buried into his shirt and her slender arms tight around his waist. He patted her back awkwardly. "Fuck 'em," he said vaguely. "Fuck 'em all."

"Yeah," she agreed, her voice muffled by the fabric. There was another little pause, and it felt really damned good to hold someone, even for a little while. He glanced over at the drama and caught Piotr, Kurt and Bobby looking at them. Scott turned, irritated, and frowned for a moment before returning to his chastising. Bobby's grin had faltered slightly, although whether because of Scott or Logan was anyone's guess.

"People shouldn't leave," said Marie after a moment. It wasn't quite what he'd expected, but he'd never been much good at reading people. She didn't look up at him. He sighed and patted her hair tentatively, touched again by the sight of the white streak. She was a gutsy kid, his Marie.

"Sometimes they have - ah, fuck it. No, people shouldn't leave." They stood like that a while, and Logan searched for the right words. "Life sucks sometimes, kid," he said helplessly at last.

"Such eloquence! I'm sorry, am I interrupting something special?" Bobby's voice was as icy as anything his mutation could have caused, but the look Logan shot at the boy wilted his brave attempt at alpha male instantly. "Sorry. I - sorry. Um."

"Bobby, don't be such a dork," said Rogue. They looked at each other uncertainly, and Logan felt a little surge of unexpected pity for them both. But they'd have to find their own way - Christ knows he was the last person in the world to try to sort out relationships problems. Keeping them both trained and alert and alive was all he could vouch for. Or try for, at least.

"Did you see?" Bobby asked, looking at Rogue with his heart in his eyes. She grinned.

"Yeah. Yeah, it was pretty cool. C'mon, I want another coke. See ya, Logan." She smiled at him again, and Logan told himself that he really would kill Bobby by inches if the kid ever hurt her. He glanced back over his shoulder, breathing out smoke, and was disappointed to see that Kurt and his indecipherable scars had vanished. Scott scowled half-heartedly at him, and he grinned fiercely back. Piotr waved. Time to find something else to do with his rest day; they were few and far between, after all.

"There is something - forgive me - something between you and the little Marie?" Logan didn't jump out of his skin, but he did nearly bite through his cigar. He turned around again and glared at Kurt, who was hanging upside down in a tree a scant few yards away.

"This little habit could get very annoying, Bub. And no, not like that. Although I don't see what damned business it is of yours what Marie is to me."

"Sorry. I did not intend to startle you, my friend, nor to pry." Impossibly nimble, the way he pushed himself off the tree as if there were hidden wires supporting him, or as if the air were as buoyant as water. Logan caught a glimpse of supple blue back as Kurt somersaulted, and he noticed that a makeshift hole had been cut or torn into the seam to accomodate Kurt's whiplike tail. So that was one question answered, Logan told himself calmly. Although the hole gaped a little too much around the base of the tail, and that was kind of embarrassing. Someone probably ought to tell him. Someone not Logan.

A wisp of sudden nothingness and then Kurt was standing at Logan's side with his head cocked and a thoughtful expression upon his face. Logan tried not to stare at the scars, and wondered why he wasn't more irritated. "I was - ah, curious. Yes. Like the dead cat. But it is none of my business," Kurt agreed solemnly. Logan really wanted to be pissed, but for some reason he wasn't.

"Yeah, like the dead cat. Sheesh." He reached out and touched the sopping dark hair with one fingertip, one eyebrow raised. "You're wet," Logan added, because it was true. Kurt grinned at that and ran one stubby hand carelessly down over his chest, gathering up snowmelt in his palm and dashing it away. Logan's eyes followed the movement irresistibly, wondering idly about the weird-looking fingers. The Bermuda shorts with their stupid gaudy print were soaked through and perilously half-hanging off the narrow blue hips, and Logan had to remind himself suddenly to make a point of not gawping, just to be sure the guy didn't get the wrong impression. Because it would be the wrong impression. He was just curious.

The silence had gone on a little bit too long now. Kurt was watching him with the damnedest look on his tattooed face, and suddenly Logan felt like hitting something, or slicing something. Kurt grinned again, and then shook his head like a dog and water splattered all over Logan; he promptly dimpled with utterly disarming guilt, and the momentary impulse to snarl vanished clean away. Logan had never, ever met anyone or anything like Kurt Wagner.

"Sorry! That was wickedness. And now you are also wet, and it is all the fault of me and of our mischievous young friend." He reached out and mopped ineffectually at Logan's dampened shirt. People, with the exception of Marie, tended not to mess with Logan's personal space; but evidently Kurt had never received that particular memo. It wasn't unpleasant. Kurt's eyes darted behind Logan to the distant shapes of Bobby and Marie and his brow puckered slightly. "He is not so happy, that one, I think. But he is trying very hard. The little girl too." He paused and then added delicately, "You have had some difficult times, you and your friends."

"My friends." Logan's smile hurt. "I'm - not much of a team player. But - yeah. Difficult times. You can say that again. Well, hell, you should know something about that. Don't imagine your life's been a bowl of cherries, all blue and mutanty looking." Kurt shrugged and glanced away with a half-smile still curving his lips. "You know, you're the only guy I ever did hear about who ran away from the circus."

"Ha! Yes, this is true. It is not so common. But we are not so common, you and I. All of us, these strange friends of Professor Xavier."

"Yeah. Well. So, d'you want a beer?" Kurt glanced up at him quizzically, smiling.

"Is it a good beer?"

Logan rolled his eyes. They had had this particular conversation before. It was starting to feel comfortably familiar. "It's an American beer. The one true beer: Budweiser, Bub. King of beers. Don't you watch television?"

"American beer is - it is not the king of beers, my friend. Truly. And you are not American, I think."

"Beer's beer, Kurt. You coming?"

"With such charming company, how could I refuse?"

* * * 

 

Logan didn't scare easily, or scar easily, but not for want of trying. He knew this, but still he'd taken to carving letters into his skin late at night when sleep eluded him and his head hurt with unanswerable questions. There were a lot of questions. He'd never been the most introspective of people, but there were too many things to think about now, and the memories he did have were uncomfortable things. Even when he wasn't thinking about Jean - and his thoughts, all too often, did spiral eventually back to Jean - Logan's head was full of frustrating regrets and half-formed fears and uncertainty. And he didn't *do* uncertainty or regrets.

It had hit him, some days after their return, that Stryker's pet mutant could easily have been him. He hadn't given a shit at the time; he'd just seen her as another fucking obstacle. She was good - better than he'd expected, and he thought he'd gotten over underestimating women, but he'd still expected to whip her ass more easily than he did. Still, she was good - but she wasn't good enough, and that was as it should be. He'd enjoyed killing her. He'd felt good killing her. It was done of necessity, not for the fun of it, but the fight was exhilarating and the victory had adrenaline pumping through his veins, had him hard and glad and ready to take on the next bastard to get in his way. It was only later that he wondered who she was, and what her story had been. It was only later that he realised how very, very close he had come to *being* her. How close Magneto had come to it, and Scott, and Kurt - even the Professor. Kurt wouldn't hurt anyone without provocation - hell, he was reluctant to hurt anyone *with* provocation - when he was in his right mind. But Stryker had taken away his right mind. The realisation gave Logan pause.

Logan had killed plenty of people in his time - maybe more than he knew. Probably more than he knew. But these deaths weighed upon him: Jean Grey, who had not yet loved him, and the girl with blades on her bones, whatever her true name had been. Maybe, in some other life, she could even have been the girl for him, or a girl for him. There was no knowing who she was or what she was, no knowing how she laughed or drank or fucked, no knowing if she liked fast cars, if she preferred burgers to pizza or opera to hip hop before Stryker made and unmade her, as he made and unmade Logan. And Logan had finished the job. He'd had to do it, no doubt about that. He'd do it again without question. But - he regretted it. It troubled him. They had been well matched. And if he couldn't be the good guy - although why the fuck he shouldn't be the good guy beat the hell out of him - then maybe not everyone wanted the good guy.

He missed Jean terribly. When he slept, he had her back; her and the possibility of a future where she realised what a complete jerk Summers was, and decided that good guys were overrated. Waking into the knowledge that she was dead and gone - pointlessly dead and gone, needlessly dead and gone - this filled him with helpless fury and grief. The only morning when waking had been different, in fact, was when he was momentarily distracted by the combination of a hangover and an unexpected blue body beside him in the bed. A demonic nursemaid with tattoos scaring his flesh for each imagined sin. That had been a distraction, to be sure, but it had not lasted long enough.

So he had started writing on his skin as a record of his failures and a promise not to fail again. Not angelic symbols like Kurt's - but then, there was nothing much angelic about Logan. Never had been, if Stryker's hints were to be believed. No, Logan had started slicing the names of the people who mattered onto his skin. They didn't last. It was, he knew, the kind of thing that teenagers did; but then teenagers mostly didn't have skin that would heal right over without scarring, and they mostly didn't have knives sprouting right out of their flesh. If they did, there'd be a helluva lot more of this cutting going on.

It was harder than he'd expected. He was unbeatable when it came to slicing and dicing nasties, but for the delicate work of writing a name in his own skin - well, the claws weren't exactly designed for calligraphy. He'd been practicing for a while now, and he was better, but he still sucked. He stared grimly at the J, which he'd botched, and watched it begin to heal up before he'd finished scratching the N. Within a minute her name had vanished, leaving no marker at all - pointless as poems in the sand. It depressed the hell out of him, but it was also weirdly addictive. Besides, if he kept on doing it then maybe his skin would remember, somehow. Maybe the scars would count eventually. His body didn't hold onto anything very long, but he'd never tried this before.

He waited until the N had faded altogether before turning his left arm and writing Marie's name carefully into another patch of his forgetful flesh.

* * * 

 

"What's this, then?"

Kurt's expression was balanced oddly between gleeful and shy. He was all but dancing as he followed Colossus into the kitchen.

"This is a surprise," he called to Logan over his shoulder. "Thank you, thank you Piotr, my very good friend." Piotr placed the vast package on the table with an audible thump and grinned back at Kurt.

"You are most welcome," he said, and made to leave.

"No, you must wait! Wait just a little minute and you will be rewarded!" announced Kurt happily, bouncing on his extraordinary toes. "See - it is for Logan, mostly for Logan, but for your kindness there must be a reward. Wait, wait, wait!"

Logan's curiosity was piqued. He leaned back against the doorframe with his head cocked to one side and his arms crossed in front of his chest and watched while Kurt ripped eagerly into the crate. After a little while he stepped forward.

"D'you want some help?" he asked. "'Cause I'm thinking this is a situation where brute strength could be useful." Piotr grinned across the room at him, evidently having the self same thought. Kurt shrugged ruefully. "If you could open this for me more quickly it would be a kindness." Logan obligingly unsheathed his claws and sliced through the outer shell of the packaging.

"Halt! Stop stop stop!" Kurt exclaimed fretfully, bouncing, and Logan glared at him.

"Look, Blue, I'm not going to wreck your little toys. I can do delicate." Kurt just looked at him, eyebrows hiking incredulously towards his hairline and lips pursed to keep from smiling.

"Delicate. Yes." Behind them Logan heard Piotr make a muffled sound and Kurt's half-hidden grin unfurled in a blaze of sharp white teeth. Logan's scowl deepened.

"Then again, maybe I should just keep on cutting and forget to be all dainty with your stuff." Kurt patted his arm placatingly, and Logan was a little taken aback by how warm the thick fingers were, and by how huge Kurt's yellow eyes could be. He stepped away from the box hurriedly.

"Danke sehr," said Kurt at his sunniest. He pulled apart the outer casing and a moment later produced a bottle and passed it to a highly gratified Piotr. "For your help," he said. "Prost."

"Na zdorovje," said Piotr, grinning. "There is a party?" Logan was kind of curious about that point himself.

"No party. A tasting - a lesson for appreciating beer. Good beer. Not simply drinking it like the water for a fish. No. Savouring it. My good friend Logan believes this American Budweiser is the king of beers." Kurt shuddered. "It is not the king of beers. The brewery in Budweis - Çeské Budêjovice - theirs is a very good beer. This American Budweiser - it is not so good. But the best beer is German."

"You bought me a case of beer?" Logan stared.

"To prove a point," Kurt explained.

"It is a private party," said Piotr with a curious smile. Kurt grinned at him roguishly.

"A private lesson, say. A - tutorial. Yes. For this, I wish only Logan, that his palate it should become - gehobener. More sophisticated." Logan snorted. Kurt looked stern.

"You will not mock me. I am in earnest - the beer is no laughing matter. It is important. Your tastebugs, they are dull and lazy from this dishwater beer."

"Buds," said Logan weakly. "Tastebuds."

"Bugs, buds, bubs. Your tongue, I mean. Your tongue does not taste good. What?"

"Well," said Logan, surprised into another bark of laughter. "I think - I think you mean it doesn't taste well. Isn't good at tasting." Kurt looked at him innocently, and for a moment Logan wondered whether he was being played. Surely not.

"I do? Well. Perhaps. You should know this. Your tongue, it is not so familiar to me." Piotr choked. "Your language, I mean. Not your tastebugs."

Logan pulled a chair out from the table and sat down. "Kurt, my little blue friend, this is going to be a very long night."

"It is possible," agreed Kurt, dimpling again. Piotr left, grinning to himself, and Kurt pulled out a chair with his tail and squatted on the seat. "So. The beer."

* * * 

 

"Something been puzzling me," said Logan after his fourth UnAmerican beer. He eyed Kurt narrowly.

"Bitte?"

"Now, I'm just getting to know you here - don't claim to be an expert on the Amazing Nightcrawler. But so far I'm not noticing any real sinful behaviour. Fact for a while there I didn't think you even drank. And I know you don't smoke. So what's with all the decoration?" Logan gestured vaguely towards Kurt's cheekbone for emphasis and his fingertips scraped lightly over the surface of the skin. It was cooler than he'd expected.

Kurt flinched slightly, but didn't overbalance from his precarious perch. He blinked uncertainly, and a slow smile brought his dimples quivering into view. The blue tail snaked over one shoulder and wagged at Logan like a reproving fingertip.

"No, no. That is not it, my friend. This drinking beer or smoking - these are not sins. Even though in America you think so, with your drinking age and your dry states. Your crazy Prohibition. No."

"Hey - Canadian here! Enough of this 'you' horseshit, eh?"

"Your pardon," said Kurt quickly. "I meant no offence - only, these are not sins. Drinking, smoking - these are not sins, themselves. You know what is sin?" Logan's eyes had drifted down to peer at Kurt's bare feet, presently wrapped around the top of the chair upon which Kurt was perching like some weird wingless blue bird. Logan couldn't quite figure out how he was balancing there and drinking beer _and _waving his tail around without falling over.

"Very flexible toes," he commented, apropos of nothing. Kurt stared.

"Well. Yes. That is - why do we talk about my toes? We spoke about sin. You know the Seven Terrible Sins, yes?"

"Sure," agreed Logan, glancing back up. "Lust and envy and - ah - some other things. Sloth. Stuff like that."

"Yes. Lust, gluttony, envy, sloth, anger, vanity and avarice," Kurt recited in something like a sing-song. "These are the big sins - the sickness of the soul, not simply of the lungs. This is what matters." Kurt's expression was difficult to read. He was still smiling, but he didn't look entirely happy.

"So, what, you ate too many chilli dogs?" Not that it was any of Logan's damn business, of course - but it had been on his mind ever since Storm told him about the markings, and he couldn't help pushing. Kurt's mutation made his flesh as insubstantial as thought or memory; nothing touched him unless he let it. Logan, in contrast, was the essence of solidity; but the world could leave no trace upon his skin, try as it might, and his memory was wholly unreliable. He didn't envy Kurt's blue hide or his pointy teeth, but there was something about these symbols that sent a pang through him. Reminders. Tangible proof of a past. There was a pause, and Logan watched the thick blue fingers fiddling with the bottle. Kurt's nails were not quite claws. "Nothing to do with me, I guess," Logan said at last, feeling both disappointed and irritated. Kurt glanced up again with a rueful half-smile, and shrugged. It was a sinuous wriggle of a gesture and weirdly graceful, and it made Logan grin in spite of himself. Kurt could probably make picking his nose look graceful.

"I have done many things of which I am not so proud," Kurt said at last.

"Yeah. Well, people screw up. Shit happens."

Kurt choked on his beer and for a moment Logan thought the little guy was going to fall off the chair after all; instead he pushed himself down onto the seat to sit like a normal person while he coughed and spluttered. Logan slapped him helpfully on the back.

"Ow - that - ow - enough! Danke!" exclaimed Kurt, wincing.

"Didn't expect to crack you up, Blue. Didn't know I was such a funny guy."

"It is only - your perspective is very - ah - pragmatisch. Yes. Down to the ground. Very American." Logan scowled and knocked back the rest of his beer.

"I could get real pissy real fast about being called an American every five minutes, Bub," he said in an even voice, deftly opening another bottle.

"Verzeihen Sie mir! I am sorry. I only - nein! No! Bitte - not like this, to swallow like it is Coca Cola!" protested Kurt, suddenly distracted. His tail lashed around agitatedly. Logan continued to pour the fancy German beer straight down his throat, sublimely unconcerned. He was damned if he'd treat the stuff like it had been pissed into existence by the Baby Jesus, when Kurt couldn't even remember the difference between Canada and the US of A. Just to prove a point, he kept right on swallowing, opening his throat up to let the beer flow until the bottle was empty - which, okay, was kind of a college boy stunt, but fuck it. Let Kurt get his panties in a bunch about the waste of his precious beer. He swallowed the last drop, gave a mighty belch, and glowered across into eyes like yellow saucers of light. Kurt licked his lips, drew in a breath to say something, and then glanced away. He looked flustered.

"Got a problem?"

"I - nein. Nein. Ah. That is - a prodigious talent," said Kurt unexpectedly. His cheeks looked a darker shade of blue, if that were possible. Logan had the feeling that he'd just missed something. "So - another beer, my Canadian friend? I think - to touch the tastebugs, this time?" Considering how animated Kurt had been in explaining the nuances of each type of beer earlier in the evening, this was a very restrained response. Logan was slightly thrown.

"Yeah. Thanks."

Kurt plucked another bottle from the ravaged-looking box using his wonderfully flexible tail, and passed it to Logan with a flourish.

"Thanks," Logan said again, feeling vaguely sheepish. He popped open the cap and took a smaller swig, but he was damned if he'd admit that it was better than Labatts or Budweiser and he slapped it down on the tabletop a little too loudly. Beer foamed up over the rim and slid down the sides of the bottle, inevitable as death or taxes. Logan stared at it grimly for a moment, and then looked back up at Kurt.

"So - what did you do that was so damn terrible you had to carve squiggles into your tender blue hide to make up for it, Kurt?"

 

Kurt ducked his head.

"It is not a joking matter," he said after a moment. "It is -- well. Many things. Bad thoughts. Bad deeds. I am not a good man, Logan, my friend."

"Bullshit."

"It is not -- bullshit. It is true. I have hurt people badly. I have caused pain and death. I have been angry -- often I have been angry. And envious. It is not easy to look like this, and at times I have been angry with God -- when I was a young man, I had many questions, much anger. I wanted to be normal. A normal, boring man with a normal, boring job. I have been angry, and envious. And -- many things." Logan took in the tight set of Kurt's mouth and felt like a heel, but he kept on probing.

"Well, hey, idleness isn't a problem -- you're never still for more than a minute. And you don't pig out, from what I've seen, so they can't get you for gluttony."

"Idleness and gluttony - these are not so much my flaws. Although I do like food, and at times I have been too self indulgent - but you are correct." Logan swallowed another mouthful of beer and stared thoughtfully at Kurt.

"Avarice? That's being greedy for money, right? 'Cause you don't strike me as real money-oriented, Blue."

"Sometimes I have felt greedy for money. When the nights were cold and it rained until the earth was like soup, so muddy -- yes. Yes, sometimes I have been greedy for money."

"Hmm. Vanity?" Kurt hung his head and his smile faltered.

"I am not beautiful to look upon, this I know. But sometimes I am vain about my skills. I so enjoy -- but I have been too proud. I have been vain in my success, in my abilities -- and they are none of my doing. They are God's gift. I should be grateful, yes, but not proud. Not vain. This is very wrong."

"I'm starting to think you're kind of hard on yourself about this shit, Bub. And if you think you're a Sinner, you must think I'm gonna burn in Hell for all eternity." He took another thoughtful swig of the imported beer and watched Kurt's yellow eyes bug out.

"No, I did not mean -- that is -- you are a good man, Logan. A good guy." Kurt exclaimed, looking startled and decidedly upset. Logan cut him off with a wave of one hand.

"So, what else? Anger, Envy -- what does it take to make you carve these scribbles on your skin? What about Lust?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, and Logan felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck prickling. He'd have bet hard cash that Kurt was blushing, in his weird blue fashion. Kurt glanced at him, and the expression on his face wasn't what Logan had expected. Or maybe he just hadn't realised he expected it.

His guts tightened and all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place right then, leaving Logan with a whole lot to think about.

Kurt bit his lip and looked away again. "I have been - weak, sometimes. Yes. Too many times."

"Huh." Logan cocked his head thoughtfully and took another swig of beer. His skin was prickling, and his jeans were too tight. They'd been feeling that way for a while now, and he was only just realising what his body had known for weeks. "You quite the Casanova back in the circus, then? I bet you were at that -- bet they were all over you, with your pretty mouth and this damn fool tail." It was the easiest thing in the world to match action to words and close his fingers around the tail for emphasis. Logan had been wanting to do this for the longest damn time, but he hadn't realised what that said. It jerked violently at his touch, but Logan kept tight hold, and the only way Kurt was getting rid of him now was if he pulled his little bamfing trick. He was almost surprised by how warm and ordinary the flesh felt as it flexed under his hand. He could feel Kurt's pulse racing through the bare skin, and this was all kinds of intimate right here; this wasn't like punching a guy's arm or clasping someone's hand. He might as well have grabbed Kurt's bonny blue ass, Logan realised with a belated shock; but he didn't let go.

Kurt, he noticed, had frozen perfectly still. Logan rubbed his thumb meditatively over the warm blue skin, tracing the curve of the tail until it swept out and then narrowed towards the sharp spike of the tip. His blunt nails scored very gently over the surface. He glanced across and was startled to see that Kurt's back was arched and his eyelids had fluttered shut. He was wearing the damnedest expression, no trace left of the smile - it was almost like he was suffering, although Logan would have put money on the fact that he was enjoying being touched. Enjoying it a lot.

"Bet they couldn't get enough of this, eh?" Logan's voice came out rougher than he'd expected. "All the pretty little trapeze artists and popcorn girls wanting to get a piece of the blue guy with the tail." He paused, and his nails bit down almost hard enough to cut through the skin; almost hard enough to leave a mark. Almost. "Maybe not just the girls?" Despite the beer, his mouth felt suddenly dry. He licked his lips and shrugged. "That it, Blue?" He watched Kurt's face. Kurt nodded, his eyes still tightly shut, and Logan felt a rush of triumph. This was his, and nobody was taking it away from him. Kurt was his, here and now, and no Scott, no compunction about youth, no fear of poisonous skin was robbing him of this. He reached his other hand through the air and cupped the side of Kurt's face, feeling him jolt at the touch and watching as the moon-bright eyes snapped open again. Kurt was staring at Logan desperately, like the answers to the meaning of life were to be found on Logan's face. Logan clasped Kurt's cheek a little more tightly; the crazy scars were raised up from the surface of Kurt's skin and the feel of them brushing against his palm was making Logan harder and wetter by the moment. "Hell, God's not gonna blame you for that, Blue," he said, hoarsely. "You're only human. Kinda funny looking, but human." Kurt was trembling because of him. The tail shook under his hand. He stroked it again, slowly, purposefully watching Kurt's expressions shift and buckle as he drew in a ragged breath.

"You like this, huh?"

"Yes," Kurt hissed, almost without thinking. "Yes. That is - good." His expression darkened. "But we should not -"

"You married?"

Kurt blinked. "No, I - no."

"Me neither. You promised anyone anything?"

"Not - aiee! I did not intend - only to flirt, perhaps, but I did not think - this - I - Bitte! It is hard to think when you do this."

Logan did it again, and marvelled at the way Kurt responded with his whole body. This was entirely irresistible. "You promised anyone anything?"

"Nein. No."

"Me neither. Fuck this shit. You want this as much as I do."

Kurt raised one strange hand to cover Logan's fingers where they rested on his face, but he didn't try to move them. It occurred to Logan, belatedly, to wonder whether Kurt was afraid of the claws; whether he was sitting there thinking about the blades that could spring out and pierce his fragile, markable skin, spill his blood, break his bones. Logan had been lethal as long as he could remember. He started to pull his hand away, but found Kurt wouldn't let him.

"Yes," Kurt said simply, and his eyes gave it all away. A confession. An admission. Permission to touch. Logan grinned fiercely.

"Well, good. You think too damn much, Blue."

The sulpher didn't smell great or sexy, there was no two ways about it, but having a sudden lapful of pliable Kurt sure as hell did. Completely unnecessary to teleport across such a little space, but maybe he just couldn't wait; or maybe he wanted Logan to remember how entirely, uncannily different he was. Logan really didn't give a shit why, when it came right down to it; he was too damned busy enjoying having his arms and lap and mouth full of warm and willing blue flesh.

And maybe kissing another guy shouldn't have seemed so damn normal, because Logan had pretty much assumed that he was straight. He'd wondered a few times, maybe more than wondered, and he'd had some pretty peculiar dreams - but there was no doubt about the fact that he liked women, and that seemed simple enough. No need to rock the boat, he'd thought. No need to make things complicated. But Kurt felt great under his hands and tasted great on his tongue. Kurt wanted him. Maybe complicated wasn't so bad. And after all, Logan's past was a closed book -- for all he knew he'd spent his whole life screwing other guys. Or screwing tattooed blue Germans with tails. And if he hadn't -- well, he got to make up for lost time.

Turned out, though, that kissing Kurt Wagner stung, and Logan had to wonder what the regular humans had made of it as he nicked his lip on a razor-sharp tooth and blood seeped onto their tangled tongues. Kurt snapped back as if burnt, severing the kiss with a stricken look on his face.  
"Ich bin zu unbeholfen -- shit -- I'm sorry --"   
If Logan hadn't been gripping him tightly Kurt would have bolted. As it was there was nothing to keep him from pulling his teleporting act, and Logan was just relieved he didn't try it.   
"Don't understand you, Bub -- have to speak English. Now come back here."

Kurt's expression was miserable. "No -- I am not meant for this. My teeth -- "

"Bullshit, Blue." Logan's voice brooked no argument. "You can't hurt me."

"But I --"

"You can't hurt me. Nothing you can do will hurt me. You get overexcited and bite my ass? Skin will have healed up before the blood's dry. You fucking know this, Bub. Now get the hell back here."

He could see the penny drop, then, and when Kurt finally stopped holding back it took Logan's breath away. One long leg hooked around his waist and another over his shoulder, one strange hand on the nape of his neck and another wrapped around a bicep and that tail twining itself around Logan's leg -- and Logan was kind of bowled over by how unbelievably flexible Kurt was. And by how much Kurt wanted him -- because there was no hiding that, plastered up against Logan like he was, tongue exploring every inch of his mouth and fingers digging into flesh like they were planning on taking root there. Logan slid a hand through Kurt's dark hair and his fingertips curiously traced the dark curlicue of one pointed ear. Kurt gave a heartfelt groan into his mouth, the sexiest damn sound Logan had heard in months, and then he pulled back long enough to look at Logan, really look at him.

"You are amazing," Kurt said, wonderingly, and then he started to kiss his way hungrily across Logan's jaw and throat, working his way downwards as his fingers scrabbled their way under the edges of the t-shirt. The teeth grazed their way across Logan's skin, not quite drawing blood. Logan shuddered desperately when a blunt, clawlike nail scraped across his nipple, and he cupped one hand around the firm curve of Kurt's ass, the web between finger and thumb brushing the sturdy base of Kurt's tail, and yanked him closer still. The tail tightened around Logan's calf as Kurt, shuddering himself, bit down hard and helpless, bit right through the stretched fabric of the t-shirt. There was a tiny pause, and Logan wondered irritably whether Kurt was going to freak out again. Blood welled up through the white cotton. Kurt looked up through dark lashes and his lips curved into a smile that was sheer predator, all sex, and Logan asked himself how he could ever have thought this man was innocent.

"Bedroom," said Kurt, urgently, more a command than a request -- and that was one hell of a sensible suggestion if ever Logan had heard one, because he was on the brink of shoving the little guy down and fucking him right here on the table, and that really wasn't the kind of thing you wanted any of the kids to see if they bounced in for a cold vanilla Coke.

"Yeah," he said with feeling.

And then they were there.

"Now that is one helluva useful mutation," Logan exclaimed appreciatively, sprawling now on what was evidently Kurt's bed with Kurt wrapped around his waist. Just a pity about the brimstone -- but he could deal.

"This. Off," said Kurt, tugging at his bloodied t-shirt with determination. His vocabulary seemed to be crumbing a little. "Now." Logan lay back on the bed and tucked his hands behind his head.

"What do I get in return?"

"Me," Kurt said, urgently.

"Well all right, then." Kurt was quick, but Logan could be fast too when he wanted to be. He rolled them both, hands moving again until he had Kurt pinned to the bed and his fingers had closed tightly around the slender blue wrists -- and they both knew that Kurt could get away in a heartbeat, could dissolve into nothingness, but that wasn't the damned point. Kurt was panting, and hard, and Logan wanted to kiss him. "But I have to see you naked too, Blue," he explained. "I need to see that first. See, I want to taste your scars when I fuck you." Kurt closed his eyes and drew in his breath with a hiss.

"Ja. I - yes. Bitte. Now." Logan looked down at him for a moment, astonished afresh at the gleaming darkness of Kurt's blue skin. He bent down and licked one of the scars on Kurt's forehead, the tip of his tongue tracing the pattern, tasting the salt on Kurt's skin as he breathed in the scent of cocoa butter and a lingering ghost of sulpher. Kurt moaned, and the way he wriggled sent an urgent shock through Logan's body. He badly needed Kurt Wagner to be naked. Now.

"I'll buy you some new duds," he promised as the blades slid free. "Don't move."

The only sound in the world was Logan's heartbeat and the urgent hiss of Kurt's breath, and then the thin whisper of adamantium slicing through cotton and denim while Kurt lay very still, eyes wide and parted lips swollen and glossy. Logan cut away the hand-me-down shirt and pants with surgical precision, and within a very short time Kurt was sprawling butt-naked on the wreckage of his clothes.

The tattoos were all over his body: breast and belly and thigh. Logan yanked his own t-shirt roughly over his head, blades sheathed once more, and then collapsed into another hungry kiss, rubbing himself against Kurt's squirming blue flesh and shivering at the way the faint ridges of scar tissue brushed against his skin. He licked his way across the indigo planes, exploring the shifts in texture from collarbone to throat to chest to nipple and working his way lower until Kurt was muttering something broken and incomprehensible. Logan trailed his mouth still further down over the blue surface, his tongue flickering over the alien angelic letters and his blunt teeth closing over them and sucking hard, until Kurt shuddered and gasped and clutched at his shoulders. The musky smell of sex grew stronger as he moved lower, and Logan studied Kurt's hard on with a mixture of lust and curiosity. He didn't touch it yet, and Kurt groaned and muttered with obvious frustration as Logan licked his way around it.

"So is this a sin?" Logan asked, turning so his cheek scratched against Kurt's inner thigh. Kurt made a desperate sound above him, but didn't answer. "Is this a sin, Bub?" He wrapped long, calloused fingers around Kurt's wet erection and jerked it ungently as his tongue followed another curling scar. Kurt was strong, for all he was so slight; the way he thrashed under Logan felt almost like fighting, and that wasn't something he ever expected would get him hard. Turned out that this was easier than being with a woman, and he had no idea whether the familiarity was simply a matter of jerking off himself, or proof that his body remembered having other men. He didn't give much of a damn either way. He really, really liked the desperate sounds that Kurt was making. "Is it? Is this a sin?"

"I - bitte - I - " Kurt gasped, writhing. "Ja. Yes. Yesss."

"Good," said Logan, profoundly satisfied, and Kurt bucked and twisted and came in his hand.

Kurt was still shuddering when Logan flipped him over, and he made a small, sensitised murmur of protest. Logan paused, running one sticky hand appreciatively down the fine blue line of Kurt's spine and closing it possessively over Kurt's ass. "You said I could have you, Blue. Not gonna chicken out on me, now, are you?"

"I -- nein. No," said Kurt after a moment, his voice muffled. He was strung out and panting hard, but he twisted and looked over one shoulder, and the expression on his face was somehow more vulnerable and exposed than his whole buck-naked and beautiful blue body. "What -- what you will, my friend. I -- am -- yours." As if to underline this he pulled his knees up and lifted his ass right up in the air, the slender tail curling out of the way and his back arching gracefully in a manner that said, quite clearly, that his ass was there for the taking. Any moment of vague guilt or compunction that Logan felt was history. He drew in a hissing breath, feeling his cock straining to be free, and fumbled with his own belt buckle, yanking pants and underpants out of the way so hard he heard something rip.

"Good," he said with feeling. The air felt wonderful on his skin. He just wished that he'd had the foresight to have some kind of lube in his pocket - but who the hell expected this? "Damn," Logan muttered, one hand on his erection. "Don't suppose you've got any - huh." Kurt's inhuman fingers slid under his pillow, then transferred something small into the grip of his tail, and then Logan found himself presented with a very incriminating, if virginal, little gift. A condom. With lube. "Well I'll be -- you were planning on this all along." He slapped Kurt's butt, and heard Kurt gasp. "Flirtation my ass. You were planning this."

"No -- I -- not really." Kurt wasn't looking at him. He sounded embarrassed, as well he might with his ass up in the air after all his talk of sin, and almost ashamed. "It was only -- well. I wondered -- but -- must we talk about this?"

"No wonder you've got so many of these pretty scars."

Kurt squirmed. "Please -- bitte, I don't want -- oh! Yesss!"

"Yeah, Blue. I think you do want." Logan rubbed the slick stuff in urgent circles over Kurt's skin and after a moment he slipped two fingertips inside.

"Ja," Kurt agreed shakily, and his tail slipped back around Logan's waist by way of encouragement, like the most obscene belt in the world. "This. This. Not the talking."

Logan pressed his fingers in deeper, and Kurt whimpered.

"Shit. Damn. Fuck, you're so hot like this. I'd no idea - God damn. Wait, damn it." He should have opened the damn condom before getting his fingers all greasy. After what seemed like entirely too long he managed to rip it open and rolled the damn thing into place hastily. He touched Kurt again, sliding wet fingers inside and out and inside again, and Kurt gave a kind of growl low in his throat. And that was it, that was too damn much, and it was all Logan could do not to really hurt him. Instead he yanked Kurt closer, rubbed his erection against the cleft of his ass, pressed against the slippery entrance to Kurt's body, and in a moment he was inside, at least a little way. Going in slowly was killing him, but -- and then Kurt pushed backwards, hard, and flexed around him, and it was hot and tight and sexy as hell, and Logan just lost it completely when he felt Kurt's thighs slap back against his own. "Fuck, yes," exclaimed, and rammed himself in balls-deep. His fingers would leave bruises on Kurt's hips, no doubt about that, and that idea was a turn-on in itself. Kurt was going crazy under him, making the filthiest, most desperate sounds every time he slammed home. "Is this a sin?" Logan demanded hoarsely. Kurt whimpered, and Logan slid one hand around to find Kurt's cock half hard again. He started to pump it in time to his thrusts and felt Kurt hardening in his hand.

"Ja," Kurt gasped. "Yes. Yes."

He bit sloppily at the elegant swirl of scar tissue on Kurt's right shoulder and drove in deeper, harder, more desperate. He knew he wasn't going to last very long. "Do you like it?"

Kurt was choking on his words now, almost sobbing them out with every stroke. "Yes. Yes. Yes."

"Should you -- be -- punished?" And this was it: Kurt clenched hot and tight and needy around him now; Kurt's skin sullied with another scar tomorrow. One that wouldn't fade away. Possession. Conquest. Proof of a past.

"Yes!"

"Yes!"

He came so damn hard he saw stars in the midnight of Kurt's skin.

* * *

Waking hurt. That was the alcohol, of course - beer and beer and beer again.

Someone - a very naked someone - was in bed with him. Skin warm against his skin, a slender back curved up against his chest, a firm ass pressing back against his belly and legs tangled with his. The tail curving possessively around his waist left him in no doubt about exactly who this someone was. And that was still kind of surprising, but good. Very good.

Logan opened his eyes and tightened his arms around Kurt, relieved that the little guy hadn't vanished in a puff of smoke during the night. He smiled at the back of Kurt's head, and wondered where the new scar would go.

"Good morning," he said quietly, wondering if they were okay. By way of reply Kurt wriggled a little closer, and this was something Logan could definitely get used to.

"You should not worry," Kurt said. His voice thick with sleep, but his tail was rubbing against Logan's erection in a way that was anything but drowsy. "Nothing - untoward - has happened."

Logan laughed. "Really? Then maybe I need to try a little harder."

And he did.

* * * 


End file.
